Visions of Sugarplums
by Rhi Marzano
Summary: A holiday tale of Ron discovering his feelings for Hermione, while dealing with her insane relatives.
1. Part One

Visions of Sugarplums  
PG-13  
Rhi Marzano  
[A/N: I finally finished this part on my 17th birthday (December 26th); a happy holidays to everyone. I hope you enjoy this.... er, interesting Ron/Hermione romp. Many chapters to come.]

* * *

A single piece of paper should not have been so daunting. It wasn't even a scroll, for pungsakes, just a slip of parchment with neatly printed headings. The name category was no problem. He'd filled that in with a barely legible scrawl ages ago. An unimpressive "Ron Weasley" stared up at him. No, the name wasn't the issue. It was the following line that gave him nightmares. It read: 

**Current Career Plans**

A suitable blank followed, which pretty much reflected the state of Ron's mind. His options slowly presented themselves. First, he could lie. He could write something amusing like "sewer-cleaner" to give McGonagall a coronary. Second, he could actually put down what he wanted to do. 

As he chewed on the quill, he realized he had no idea what that could be. Working for Fred and George didn't sound like fun at all; working with Percy sounded like a method of torture. He wasn't spectacular at Quidditch, or anything for that matter. Nothing really pulled his interest anymore than anything else. 

"I'm not going to be a bum," he muttered to himself. 

Sighing, he raked his hands through his hair and tipped back in his chair. As he did so, he turned his head upwards and saw Hermione's flushed face glaring down at him. 

"You got in another fight today," she said, arms akimbo. 

"Yeah, well, Malfoy needed punching," he said dismissively. 

"You lost us five points."

_Not that voice, not that voice, _ he begged silently. It was her best guilt-inducing voice, and she was damn good at wielding it. Ron attempted to appeal. "I'm sorry, I guess I can be a little..."

"Pugnacious?" she suggested crossly. 

"I was going to say impulsive," he said, throwing her a look. "You aren't really mad at me, are you, 'Mione?"

"Not really," Hermione replied. She set her books down at the table but remained standing. "I wish you'd just grow up every now and again. I suppose you're only seventeen, and that's not likely to change for awhile."

"At least not until my next birthday," he said with a cheeky grin. 

She rolled her eyes and pushed his chair, sending him tumbling. 

"That was so mature," Ron said, lying in an awkward heap on the floor. 

"I rather think you deserved it," she said archly. 

He narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?" He hooked her ankle with his boot and brought her down on top of him. 

She landed with a thud on his chest. _It's only Hermione, _ he told himself even as his pulse increased wildly. She barely covered him; she was like a butterfly on a tree trunk. He felt huge and ugly and clumsy, a veritable ogre, and...

Her hair smelled _really_ good. 

He didn't quite understand why this suddenly cut through his self-consciousness, but it had. It had the scent of... well, it was something. He frowned, perplexed. Maybe it was vanilla. 

She cleared her throat, and he could feel the tiny vibration go through him. "Maybe I should get off," she suggested. 

"Maybe," he agreed, his voice cracking. Inwardly he cursed his vocal cords. Now, of _all_ times...

She rolled off with utmost efficiency and dusted off her robes. The air became normal again when she said with a bit of a sniff, "You shouldn't be leaning back in your chair like that anyway." 

* * *

Harry strode into the library with an arm full of books. His head cocked almost imperceptibly and his gait slowed. He shifted his books to one arm and dropped the other. A flash of red caught up to him and slipped her hand in his. 

They were both radiant. 

Hermione's breath caught, and she sighed wistfully. 

"Aren't they cute?" she whispered to Ron. 

He made a noncommittal grunt. 

"Hullo," Ginny said cheerfully. 

"Really enjoyed watching Malfoy's face get smashed today," Harry piped up. 

"It almost makes me forgive you for wasting the five points I won in Herbology today," Ginny added. She slumped into a chair facing Hermione and Ron. "I cannot wait until holidays. Snape is really bogging us down with homework."

"You're coming home with us, right, 'Mione?" Ron said absently. 

Hermione took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. "Actually, I was wondering if you all wanted to come to my house for the break."

"What's that?" Harry said, green eyes clouded with surprise. 

"We always go to the Burrow for holidays," Hermione plunged on, "and I thought it might be a nice change to spend it at our townhouse in London."

"You have a townhouse?" Ginny's face was almost lime. 

Ron poked Ginny's shoulder by way of warning. "I'm in," he said. 

An echo came from Ginny, and a simple nod from Harry. 

She expelled a breath and beamed. _That wasn't so hard,_ she chided herself. _Why in the world did I make such a big deal about it? _

"I'll post Mum," said Ron, dimples winking quickly. 

Butterflies fluttered relentlessly in her stomach. _Oh, yeah. _Now_ I remember._

* * *

Three weeks passed by with agonizing slowness. Ron was doing his best to avoid McGonagall, who was quite thoroughly displeased with his failure to turn in his seventh year survey. He also blew something up during Potions; which wasn't all that unusual, but the fact that it exploded in the instructor's face was a new experience. As if this weren't enough, he sported a large multicolored bruise on his shoulder from Quidditch practice. 

He could have kissed the calendar the day the school session was closed. 

"Packed?" Harry asked, rummaging under his bed. He had clothes scattered all on top of his blankets, his suitcase open and haphazardly organized. 

"More or less," Ron said. He peered at Harry's feet, which currently were the only thing protruding from the space below the glorified cot. "More than you, I'd say, but definitely less than Ginny. She's packed enough for the entire female population of Bolivia."

"And probably even some of the men," Harry said wryly. A few more items came flying out, one of them solidly nailing Ron in the shin. 

"What on earth are you looking for?" Ron asked, exasperatedly peeling the stocking from his leg. 

"Ginny's present," was his muffled reply. "I hid it somewhere, down here I think, but I can't seem to find it."

"The necklace you bought at Hogsmeade's?" Ron scratched his forehead. "You put it under the mattress."

With a sheepish grin, Harry crawled back out and retrieved a small package from the said place. "I did, didn't I?"

_He's mad for her,_ Ron thought to himself. A sudden vision of his best friend and his baby sister with a brood of children left him shaking his head. Uncomfortable, he turned on his heel and said, "Hurry up, would you? The train leaves soon."

* * *

The four of them sat in a compartment; Harry and Ginny on one side looking suitably sanguine, and Ron and Hermione on the other with as much space between them as possible.

Ron hadn't planned for the awkward distance between them, it had simply happened when they walked in. His butt was crunched against the wall, he didn't dare move over. She might think he was interested or something. 

_Which I'm not,_ he asserted.

"Who all will be there?" Ginny asked. She was burrowed into Harry's side. If they got much nearer, he would have to surgically separate them. Or at least wound Harry a little. 

"My parents, of course," Hermione began, ticking the guests off on her fingers. "They're both dentists, so if you call them Dr. and Dr. Granger, they'll be tickled pink."

"That's got to be confusing," remarked Harry. 

Ginny bit her lip. "Will they be terribly upset if we slip up and say Mr. and Mrs.?"

"No, no, no," Hermione said with a laugh. "That's fine. My brother might give you a look if you do, but that's about it."

"Jamie," Ron remembered. That was about all he remembered. 

Hermione nodded. "He's an engineer, so he's apt to confuse you if he starts talking about his work. Of course, if he only comes out of his room for meals."

"Cousins?" Harry inquired. 

"My German cousin Günter, for sure. He's accompanying my grandmama and my aunts. I'm certain several will simply show up, but I'll introduce them as they do."

"How many, total?" demanded Ron. The more people, the better- less room for Ginny and Harry to hide away. 

"Including you three? No more than twenty I should think. I know you must get twenty at your house for Sunday tea, but my family is quite a bit different."

"It shall be refreshing," Ginny declared. 

_It better be a damn small townhouse,_ Ron thought, and grumpily turned his eyes to the passing landscape.

* * *

A golden Lexus gleamed in the winter sun. Hermione relaxed when she spotted it. A familiar figure sat within. "My papa has come to pick us up," she informed her friends. 

"Dr. Granger, Dr. Granger, Dr. Granger," Ginny mumbled beside her. 

"Chill," advised Ron. 

The ride home was charmingly uneventful. Well, Hermione amended, if you could discount Ron's random mutterings of "hand check."

The car rounded the final corner, and the aged brick came into view. The townhouse wasn't a prized familial possession- instead, a fairly recent acquisition paid for by the sturdy salaries of dentistry. It certainly looked impressive; she supposed that was the reason her parents had purchased it. Had it cost a small fortune? Probably, but it didn't leave much of a dent in their finances. 

Even if hoards of ancestors hadn't lived in the structure, Hermione had grown up in it. That, in her mind, made it home. 

"Hermione!" said her mother merrily, opening the door. She absently kissed her husband's cheek as he passed inside. "You're home! How is school?"

"Fine, Mother," she said truthfully. She jerked a thumb behind her. "You remember Harry, Ron, and Ginny."

"Thank you for letting us stay with you, Dr. Granger," Ginny said politely. Hermione knew she'd rehearsed that line at least twenty times. 

"Oh, dear." Her mother's hand fluttered to her chest. "What a nice girl you are. Do you all need help with your luggage?"

"No, thank you," Ginny said, batting her eyelashes at her boyfriend. "Harry's carrying mine."

"You are?" Ron said in surprise. 

"I am now," Harry said, sighing. 

"Well, then, Harry, why don't you follow me? I'll show you where to put Ginny's things." Her mother paused. "Ginny, you should probably come, too, so that you know the way."

"Alright," chirped Ginny. She tugged on Harry's sleeve. The little force almost toppled him over. "Come on, Harry." He grunted and trailed after them. 

Ron folded his arms and scrutinized the building. The sun caught his hair, seemingly setting fire to it. 

Hermione blinked, trying to rid the image. "Does it meet your approval?" she teased. 

"Too big," he replied cryptically. 

"I'm not even going to try to understand that," she told him. "Do you want to see your room?"

"Yeah, sure." He hitched up his bag. "Where to?"

* * *

Ron dumped the contents of his bag out on the bedspread and yanked open the drawers of a convenient oak dresser. One by one, he transferred the items, folding those that needed to be folded, and stacking things neatly. He resisted compulsions to be messy, because somehow, somewhere, his mother would find out. 

Ron wasn't afraid of many things, but he was definitely afraid of pissing off his mother. 

"Welcome," greeted an accented voice. "I'm Günter Granger, Hermione's cousin."

"Uh, hi," Ron said distractedly. "Ron Weasley." He furrowed his brow, rearranging the clothes. Shirts should go in the second drawer; it'd make more sense that way...

"Hello, then."

Ron looked over at the German. Light brown hair, a bit shorter than him, but more... built. Ron had only recently begun to fill out, but this guy looked like he lifted tree trunks for a hobby or something. 

"You don't look anything like Hermione," Ron said finally. 

"We are distantly related," Günter said, shrugging. "But I like to sponge off rich family. Good for parties, no?" He peered at Ron. "Is that hair color real?"

Ron blinked. "As far as I know."

He clasped his hands to his chest in a manner oddly reminiscent of Hermione's mother. "I am greatly fond of redheads. Something so... spanky about them."

"Spunky?" Ron suggested. 

"Spanky, spunky. My English is not good." Günter said easily. "Perhaps you would give me lessons?"

"No, that's quite alright."

Günter stepped closer, folding his arms. "Certain? I should like to spend more time with you, Herr Weasley. You are very interesting."

Ron coughed, backing away. "Are you hitting on me?"

He frowned. "Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "I am sexy, you are sexy, it is to be expected."

"I'm not gay," Ron blurted out. 

"Are you homophobic?" he questioned. "Seventy percent of homophobes are actually-"

_Oh, god. Save me._ "I'm not a homophobe, I'm just not gay," Ron said, putting his head in his hands. 

Günter sighed. "This is sad. My heart is broken." He walked out of the room, looking desolate and lonely. Ron almost felt bad for him. 

"Ron," Ginny said, appearing in the doorway. "Have you seen Hermione?"

"Fraulein!" said Günter brightly. "Welcome! I am cousin of Hermione from Germany."

He _definitely_ didn't feel sorry for him now. "You get around," Ron said darkly. 

"You cannot expect me to weep over you forever, Herr Weasley," he sniffed. 

"Or five minutes," Ron said. 

"Am I missing something?" Ginny said, bemused. 

"No," he replied sharply. "I'm going to find Hermione."

"Oh, good. Tell me when you do," she called after him. 

* * *

"Hermione!" Ron called desperately, combing the hallways. He pushed back the hair in his eyes. "Hermione!"

She poked her head out of a nearby door. "What is it, Ron?"

"Your cousin," he growled through clenched teeth, "was flirting with me."

"Günter?" she said knowingly. "Don't worry. He flirts with everyone."

"But-"

"Don't let it bother you," she said, patting his shoulder. "He's harmless, but I'll talk to him if it makes you too distressed."

"Thank you," he said, heaving a sigh of relief. 

"Loosen up," Hermione said, smiling. "Have some fun."

Ron was paralyzed by that smile. Her entire face lit up, like the Christmas tree at Hogwarts with a candle for every bough. He would do anything-

_We're just friends,_ he reminded himself.

"**Herr Weasley!**"

"Oh, my god," Ron groaned, and bolted for the nearest safe place.

* * *

Hermione watched as Ron ran into the bathroom. 

_He's so strange sometimes,_ she thought. Her smile remained. _He wouldn't be Ron without that streak of strangeness._

He was one of her best friends. He'd grown in that capacity lately, especially since Harry and Ginny had begun hanging all over each other. She could tell him everything.

Almost everything.

It was getting weird between her and Ron. Bad weird.

_Maybe he knows I'm in love with him,_ she thought with resignation.

* * *

Ron slammed the lock into place, breathing heavily. "I'm out of shape," he said to himself. "When I get back to Hogwarts, I'll start running again."

He went to the toilet, flipped the seat down, and parked his rear. 

"Hullo," cheeped a small voice. 

Ron's eyes sharply went to the shower stall, where a little girl sat. 

She had the cheeks of a cherub, but with her frizzy, curly brown hair, she was no doubt related to Hermione. 

"Hi, there," Ron said softly. "What are you doing in here?"

"Hiding," she replied promptly, sticking her thumb in her mouth. 

"Me, too," he said. 

He put his ear to the door and listened carefully. "I think they're gone." He held out his hand. "I think we can leave now."

The little girl fit her unoccupied palm in his. It was tiny and cute, just like every inch of her. 

Ron led her out into the hallway. He had to bend down to keep hold of her. "Do I still have to take a nap?" she asked. 

"I don't know," Ron said helplessly. 

"I don't want to take a nap," she said seriously. 

"I gathered," he answered dryly. He let go of her hand. "Go find your mama."

"Want to come with _you_," she said fiercely, throwing her arms around his leg. 

Ron attempted to walk, but the girl was hindering his progress. 

"Get off, little girl," he said, shaking his leg. 

Her liquid brown eyes stared up at him. "Papa, _please_?"

"Papa?" he repeated. 

Then he looked down at her again. 

"Oh, _shit_."

* * *

[Who is the little girl? Who's Günter's next target? Are Harry and Ginny really doing as bad of things as Ron fears? Stay tuned for part two, as Ron gets confused, gets kissed, and gets some answers to those questions!]


	2. Part Two

Visions of Sugarplums: Part Two  
PG13  
Rhi Marzano  
[A/N: It's slightly shorter than the last part, but still insane. I'd like to dedicate this round to my boss (!) who almost bought me a car yesterday but my mother said no. With a week of reflecting, I'd say 17 isn't much different than 16, other than the really annoying fact that I can't sing that Sound of Music song anymore.]

* * *

To put it lightly, Ron was not having a good day.

"You're a figment of my imagination," Ron told the girl in the blue-checked pinafore. Restlessly he paced in the hallway. He had deduced her name easily; it was embroidered on the frilly shirt she wore. _A hallucination wouldn't be complete without all the bells and whistles, I suppose._

Leonie was sitting down at the top of the stairs, staring at him with a bored expression. Her thumb rested in her mouth, but she shifted it to the side and announced, "Papa, I'm hungry."

"And that," he said triumphantly, waggling a finger. "Freudian slip. Obviously my subconscious is telling me that I want to sleep with Hermione."

"Applesauce," she clarified. "Want applesauce."

"I don't have any applesauce," he bit out, turning around again.

Her face crumpled up and she began sniffling. "Want _applesauce_, Papa. You no love me no more?"

Ron muttered an expletive and scooped the little girl up. "I'm very sorry, Leonie, but I don't have any. And I certainly don't know any spells regarding the creation of it. Maybe later we can run to the market, okay?" He ruffled her hair and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of his sleeve. "Cheer up, kid, we don't need a watering pot." He shifted her to one side. "You look tired."

"Don't want to take a nap," she told him sleepily, burrowing into his side.

"I think you need one," Ron said, but left it at that. He started to walk down the hall. Her erratic sniffles turned to regular breathing, and at the very instant she dropped into sleep...

...she disappeared.

_Why were you comforting an illusion?_ he chided himself, shaking his head in disgust. "_I_ should take a nap," he said.

* * *

Ron opened the door to his best friend's temporary room without preamble. "I'm losing it, Harry," he declared, flopping onto the bed.

Harry raised his eyebrow. "Hallo to you, too; lovely of you to knock."

Ron threw him a look. "Shut it, this is serious. I'm going loony."

Harry folded his arms. "Would you like to provide reasons or do you just plan to lament about your mental instability?"

Ron quickly explained the situation, which, of course, required him getting off the bed and wandering around the room like a caged animal.

Harry absorbed the information and cocked his head. "What if she wasn't an illusion?"

"I don't see any other reasonable explanation." Ron leaned against the closet, which had one of those newfangled accordion-style doors. "She couldn't have been a ghost. The Grangers haven't lived here that long, and she undeniably resembled Hermione."

"Maybe not a shade of the past," Harry said slowly, "but what about a shade of the future?"

Ron lost his balance and fell backwards, forcing the door open with the crown of his head and landing uncomfortably on a pair of shoes.

A pair of shoes that appeared to be attached to a pair of legs.

Ron's eyes traveled upward to discover that the shoes _and_ the legs belonged to his sister, whose shirt was buttoned in a chaotic, slapdash manner.

"Hi, Ron," Ginny said weakly, a constrained smile flickering on her face. "Fancy meeting you here."

Ron scrambled to his feet. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well," she said, coughing.

He spun around and jerked a thumb back at his sister. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"We haven't done anything," Harry said defensively.

Ron's face was skeptical.

"And even if we have," Ginny said hastily, "we've been really careful."

Ron's hands flew to his ears. "I do _not_ want to hear about this," he groaned. "I'm getting out of here."

"Good," the other two said in unison.

"If you touch her, I will kill you," Ron threatened, and stomped out of the room.

* * *

There were few smells more "homey" than a freshly baked pie, Hermione reflected. Of course, no one had baked anything. Her mother had broken down and bought a frozen box at the store after burning several homemade attempts, because she thought it was one of those things she ought to do. Needless to say, her concepts of motherhood were slightly warped.

"Where are your friends, dear?" her mother asked, wafting the steam above the pumpkin pie towards her nose.

Hermione spread her hands wide. "Beats me," she said. "They'll turn up eventually."

Ron slid into the kitchen, skidding across the floor in his stocking feet. "Is that pie?" he demanded.

"It does have that general consistency," Hermione said wryly.

"Dr. Granger, I would love you forever if I could have a piece," he proclaimed.

"It's still warm, but you certainly may partake of it shortly," her mother said graciously, for some reason proud of her manufactured domesticity.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked pointedly.

"I'm going insane," he said easily, taking the proffered pie from her mother. His face wrinkled in incomprehension for a second, then said, "Can I have a fork?"

Hermione pulled the utensil from a nearby drawer and handed it to him. "You're going insane?"

"Uh huh," he replied with a mouthful of pie.

"Are you just going to leave it at that?" she said, amused.

"You can't expect me to think _and_ eat pie at the same time," he said injuredly. He smiled briefly. "Excellent pie, by the way, Dr. Granger."

"You're a nice boy," her mother said fondly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Let's go somewhere," she suggested.

"Soon as I finish."

* * *

Hermione climbed the stairs with practiced grace. Ron followed behind her, entirely too close. She could feel his breath on her neck.

She opened her bedroom door and beckoned him in. "Now, what is this about?"

He entered and shut the door quietly. "I don't know," he said. "I suppose I-"

He stopped talking, and simply gawked at her open closet.

"What?" she asked.

He removed an item from the closet, one hand closed in a fist and shaking. "What is this?"

It was perhaps her favorite childhood outfit; a blue and white dress with a ruffled undershirt. "Just a little matched set handed down through my family. The collar on the shirt gets unstitched and then resewn with the new name on it."

Ron stood silent- a mean trick, indeed. "Hermione," he said carefully, "what would you name a little girl?"

"Leonora," she said promptly.

"Oh, my god," he said, eyes widening.

And he bolted from the room.

* * *

"Ron!" Hermione called after him. He'd stopped running, because he didn't want to make a commotion and let Günter find him. This, however, enabled Hermione to catch up to him.

"Ron," she said, breathless, grabbing his shoulders. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Ron looked down into her eyes, and he didn't really have an answer for her. So, he did the next best thing.

He kissed her.

He laced his fingers in her thick brown hair and brought his mouth against hers, closing all distance between them.

When he broke it off, she looked very perplexed. Then she guided her gaze upward and said, "Oh. Mistletoe."

"Right," Ron said quickly, laughing feebly. Now, that was kismet if he'd ever felt it. "Er, I have to go. To my room. To... organize my socks."

"Bye," he added swiftly as he turned.

* * *

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, sipping a cup of freshly brewed tea. Her heat was beating like mad.

_Ron just kissed me._

Her mind was fogged with elation; she couldn't quite believe it.

Ginny burst into Hermione's bedroom. "I have big news," she said.

"Me too," Hermione responded, poising her teacup for another sip. "You first."

Ginny made sure the door was closed and said bluntly, "Ron wants to sleep with you."

Hermione sputtered and sprayed the hot liquid all over her coverlet. "Did he _tell_ you that?"

"Of course not," she said impatiently, blowing her bangs out of her face. "He told Harry. I was hiding in the closet at the time."

"What were you doing in the closet?"

"That's not important," Ginny said. "Ron is seeing apparitions in the hallway; well, just one, I guess, but I think that's enough, considering she keeps calling him 'Papa.' Oh, her name is Leonie and she looks like you. So Ron thinks he's quite mad- not angry mad, mad like a hatter; Harry thinks Ron's having visions; and I think your cousin is saying something dirty in German to me all the time but I don't know what it means."

"What is he saying?" Hermione asked, not quite ready to digest the rest of the information.

"Nizzakolben," Ginny repeated.

"That's not too bad," Hermione assured her. "It means 'Nice butt.'"

She inspected said anatomical part in the mirror. "It is rather shapely, isn't it?" she said admiringly.

"I couldn't tell you," Hermione said.

"Oh, that reminds me," her friend said. "What was your news?"

"Ron kissed me."

Ginny blinked. "I'd pump you for the details, but I think it'd be kind of sick, don't you? As he is my brother and all."

Hermione laughed and pushed her out of the room. "Go talk to Harry."

* * *

"Boy!" shouted an old woman, thumping her cane on the floor.

Ron peered down the stairs. "Er, hullo?" he said tentatively.

If possible, her skin was more wrinkled than the twins' laundry. Her mouth was pursed. "Who are you?"

"Ron Weasley," he said cautiously. "I'm a friend of Hermione's from school."

"Come, let me get a closer look at you," she commanded.

Ron padded down the stairs and stuck out his hand. Instead of shaking it, the woman turned it over and inspected his palm. "Honest hands," she said appraisingly. "I'm Hermione's grandmother."

"Nice to meet you." Ron glanced down at her. He was nearly two heads taller than the woman.

"You may call me Lady Barbara," she said cordially. "I am a baroness."

Well, what was one supposed to say to _that_? Ron began scanning for an exit.

The baroness rapped her cane against his knee. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy," she thundered.

"Sorry, Lady Barbara," Ron said quickly.

"_Herr Weasley!_" The voice appeared quite suddenly behind him.

Ron turned around slowly, dread increasing with each inch.

Günter bared his teeth. "I have been looking all over for you."

"Great," Ron muttered.

"Hans, isn't it?" the baroness inquired.

"Günter," the German corrected, eyes flitting past Ron.

"Come to leech off my daughter and son-in-law, I suppose?" There wasn't much question in it.

"I am kin," he shrugged. "It is not so bad."

"Not _my_ kin," Lady Barbara said with an aristocratic sniff.

Evidently this triggered his memory of her rank, and his purpose changed. "Did you know, Baroness, that you have eyes like the ocean?" Günter's charm began to flow out in thick waves.

The baroness was startled, but after a few compliments, she almost began to purr.

Ron was suitably disgusted, but since the two of them were occupied, he ascended the stairs and slipped into his bedroom.

* * *

The first thing he did was turn out the light. Ordinarily, he would marvel at the circuitry and drool over the electricity. He would attempt to figure it out and would be fairly tempted to blow a hole in the wall just to test his theories.

But not today.

He was tired. His brain had been trying to cope with strange things all day, and he needed a nap. The pie from earlier had settled in his stomach and added to the overall drowsy feeling.

He stripped off his shirt and crawled underneath some blankets. The sheets felt nice and cool beneath him, and the pillow was heavenly soft. A yawn later, he was on the blissful edge of sleep.

An artful cough denied it to him.

His eyes flew to the door, where the little girl stood.

"Papa," she said softly, eyes wet with tears, "I had a bad dream."

Ron sighed and lifted up the edge of his blanket. "You can nap with me, then."

Leonie clambered up and snuggled against him. "Fank you, Papa." The last thing Ron remembered before falling into slumber was how... nice.. it felt to have her by him.

* * *

Hermione read an enormously thick tome while curled up in a chair in the sitting room. It wasn't very interesting; the author seemed to have a problem getting to the point. She wasn't particularly distressed to put it aside when one of her father's sisters breezed in. "Hi, Aunt Nancy," Hermione greeted, giving her a small peck on the cheek. "How long have you been here?"

"A little less than an hour," Nancy replied. "Dinner is ready, so your mum told me to find you and your friends."

"Ah," she responded. "You can go in, I'll make sure I tell them."

"Alright, dear," her aunt said, bustling towards the dining area.

Hermione found Harry and Ginny easily. She advised Ginny to fix her hair and clothes before she ventured downstairs. Harry blushed furiously at the comment, but Ginny didn't seem to be disturbed.

Neither of them had seen Ron.

She walked by Ron's bedroom. The door was slightly open but the lights weren't on. She almost kept on walking, but a niggling feeling in her stomach told her to check anyway. Sure enough, when she lit the room, she found him dozing in the bed.

He looked peaceful. She almost didn't want to wake him, but a hungry, cranky Ron was definitely worse than just a cranky Ron.

Hermione crossed the room and gently shook his shoulders. "Ron," she said gently. "Dinner."

He didn't even stir.

She placed the back of his hand on his forehead. He didn't seem to be feverish. "Ron," she repeated.

His eyelashes lay still against his face. She leaned down and inspected the peculiar shade of gold. She'd never noticed how long they were before. Her face hovered two inches above his for an agonizingly long moment, then she brought her lips down to his.

It was the briefest of touches. She drew her head back sharply, as if she'd been burned. _I can't believe I just did that._

Ron's body shifted, revealing his lack of shirt. "'Mione?" he mumbled.

"Wake up, slugabed," she said lightly. "It's time for dinner."

"Could you get me a shirt?" His eyes weren't quite focused. "Second drawer."

Hermione selected something from the drawer and handed it to him. He slid it over his head and yawned.

"Would have slept more," Ron said, still tired, "but she had a nightmare. Had to make sure she was okay first."

"She?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Leonie," he said, yawning again. "What are we having for dinner?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, deciding not to press the issue. "But they'll be put out if we're much later."

"I'm coming," he grumbled.

He made it down the hallway fine, he was alert by the time they descended the stairs, and he was nearly normal once they reached the dining room.

"What took you so long?" asked Ginny. She wriggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

"Nothing," Ron said, sending her a dirty look.

"Well," Harry piped up, "_this_ should prove interesting."

* * *

[Will dinner prove fatal? Why is Ron having visions? Will Ginny start behaving herself? And what about that brother of Hermione's, anyways? Check out next time in part three!] 


	3. Part Three

Visions of Sugarplums: Part Three  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: Man, I _never_ write this fast. You silly fans are making me write instead of study. ::clucks tongue:: I apologize explicitly for my terrible German ahead of time. I don't even _take_ German. ::hides:: This is for the guys at my physics table: J.N., even though he is highly conceited, for singing West Side Story and assorted sixties songs; B.F., for his amazing eyelashes; and my current favorite human, B.K, who just kind of grins at my random babbling. You'll probably never read this, but Bob, you rock!]

* * *

_I had no idea there were this many different kinds of forks._

The table was lined with Hermione's relatives, all of whom seemed comfortable with the excessive utensils. Harry and Ginny seemed to be dealing passably, but Ron was absolutely baffled. More so than usual, that was.

Hermione nudged his elbow. "The long one," she prompted under her breath.

Hesitantly, he picked up the largest implement and speared some lettuce. Hermione gave him an encouraging nod and he ate it.

Ron let the conversation flow around him while he ate the salad. Günter's German accent and Lady Barbara's refined tones bantered endlessly about him. Hermione handed him a plate of crackers and some sort of cheese spread. He distributed the cheese evenly on a few crackers and passed the platter to Harry.

A pudgy shadow passed through the doorway.

"Jamie!" nearly the entire table chorused in delight.

Günter patted the chair next to him vigorously. "_Dieser Sitz ist für Sie, mein lieber _Jamie."

"I'll pass, thanks," said Jamie, his somewhat pudgy cheeks flushed. His hair appeared to be untouched by brush, waves going in every direction. A pair of relatively fashionable glasses rested on his face, and several large pimples dotted his forehead. He waved vaguely at his gathered relatives and sat down on the other side of Ron.

"I'm Ron," he said, shaking Hermione's brother's hand firmly.

"Yeah," Jamie said, grinning. "Heard a lot about you."

"My dad's name was James," Harry spoke up.

Jamie made a self-deprecating face. "Mine's not."

"Oh, come now," Dr. Granger chided, folding her napkin on the table. "It isn't such a bad name."

"It's a perfectly dreadful name, Mum, and you know it," Jamie countered.

"I happen to like it," Lady Barbara declared, pounding her cane against the floor for emphasis.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, curious.

"Fitzjameson," Hermione informed her, and Ron began to choke.

"Your friends call you Fitzy?" Ron said when he recovered, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"Only the dead ones," Jamie replied glibly.

"How's Betsy?" inquired one of Hermione's aunts from further down the table.

He scratched his head. "I think she broke up with me."

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know?"

"Well," Jamie said earnestly, "I was working on this code- really quite close to making a breakthrough and eliminating several hundred lines of unnecessary things, and she said, 'Jesus, Jamie, I had reservations at seven!' And I said, 'Well, just a few more minutes, I'm almost done.' Then she glared at me and stomped off, and I haven't seen her since."

There was a collective confusion among the family.

"You gave up your girlfriend for your computer?" Nancy said incredulously.

"I liked Betsy," Dr. Granger bemoaned to her husband, who patted her comfortingly on the shoulder.

"And the program?" Hermione prompted gently.

Jamie's face brightened. "Oh, you should see it," he gushed. "I swear it's the most elegant thing I've ever written."

"_Achtung!_" Günter exclaimed, brandishing his plate above the table, flailing the other arm wildly. "_Was ist das?_ There is a hair in my dish!"

Apparently a certain German relation did not appreciate his spotlight being outshone.

"That's not a hair," objected the unfortunate girl next to him, Charlotte. She plucked the offending particle and compared it to her collar. "It's a feather."

"Your sweater is molting," said Hermione's father wryly.

"It is most attractive, though, _meine schöne Wolke_," Günter said winningly. "I am most fond of it."

"He is a bit of a drama queen," Jamie said under his breath.

Ron laughed a little. "I've found that out already."

Soup of a rich yet indeterminate flavor was laid out before them. Hermione gracefully lifted the proper spoon high enough for Ron to see.

Again, Ron drowned in the ceaseless chatter filling the room. It became like a buzzing in his ears. Unfocused and dizzy, he ate his soup with caution. His stomach churned... with something. _Maybe I'm going to throw up._ "'Mione," he mumbled, preparing an excuse to leave and glancing over at her. She slid back in her chair, face lit with concern. But it wasn't her face he gawked at.

It was her belly.

Swollen and rounded with child.

He blinked fiercely, and instantly she as slim as ever.

"Ron, are you okay?"

"I'm not feeling well," he said, swallowing nervously. "I'm going back upstairs."

"Before you've finished eating?" Hermione said startledly.

"You _must_ be sick," Ginny commented.

"I hope you feel better," Lady Barbara called generously as he began his trek to his bed.

* * *

Shortly before desert, Hermione politely excused herself to go check on her friend.

Because, well, he looked like death.

Not that he looked unattractive while doing so; it was simply that he wasn't himself, and she was worried.

She tapped lightly on his door. "Ron?"

"I'm sleeping," was his muffled reply.

"You are not," she reproved. "Otherwise you wouldn't be replying. May I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah."

She twisted the knob and glided in. "What's going on?" she asked, closing the door with her foot.

He looked lost, helpless, and vulnerable. "I don't know," he said finally.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered.

Ron drew in a quick breath. "I guess."

Relief flooded through her. She sat down next to him on the bed and smiled at him. "Go ahead."

Abrupt, he said, "I'm having visions."

"Alright," she said slowly. "What kind?"

"Good things, I suppose." Ron looked uncomfortably away. "A little girl. Well, _our_ little girl. You, pregnant. Happy things like that. I'm so used to the bad visions that it's really the good ones that terrify me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione interrupted. "Bad visions?"

"Usually just dreams," he said. "I block them out easily enough. Me worrying about something that's going to happen isn't going to change anything."

"No, but you _doing_ something about it will," she said irritably.

"Are you on my side or what?" he demanded. "I don't even like discussing this."

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "Go on."

"There isn't really much more," Ron said. "I don't know if they're real visions... or just wishful thinking."

Her heart stopped.

Softly she spoke again. "Ginny said something interesting earlier."

Another _oh-my-god_ look flashed in his eyes as he realized the only thing it could be, and his jaw set in a belligerent line. "Ginny talks too much."

"Is it true?"

His cheeks flamed. He ducked his head between his legs and mumbled his assent.

"What was that?" she asked, even though she'd heard him.

Ron pulled back into sitting position and seemed to regain his composure. 

He grasped her face in his hands, and burned her eyes with his. "I don't know when I first realized it, but I kept trying to ignore it. I guess my brain got sick of the suppression and decided to do something about it. I swear I don't feel like this about anyone but you. _Yes_, I want to sleep with you, but if you don't... I'll stay away, I promise."

She barely registered the silence, his hands still cradling her head and eyes boring into her. Sighing, she slid her arms around his neck and whispered, "I love you."

He kissed her then, which was as close to a declaration of love as she was going to get. It would have been nice to hear the words along with it, but with his tongue in her mouth, she wasn't going to quibble.

Every single part of her was tingling. She felt giddy, she felt invincible, she felt his heartbeat thudding against her as his hands began to move, she felt-

-another pair of eyes watching them.

"Can't you knock?" Ron growled, dropping his arms and cursing.

"You know, you're both hypocrites," Ginny said, flouncing in. "Going around, chastising Harry and I for-"

"For what?" Ron said dangerously.

"Nothing," she chirped quickly. "Absolutely nothing. But the point is-"

"The point is," Hermione stepped in, "that we won't tell if you don't."

"I'm going to kill him," Ron announced.

"No, he's not," Hermione assured Ginny.

Sullenly Ron considered his options. "Can't I at least beat him a bit?"

"No," she said firmly. "Otherwise, you've just given Jamie permission to beat _you_ up."

Ron gave her a skeptical look. "On principle, I suppose." His face clearly betrayed that he did not take her rotund brother's physical prowess very seriously.

"Let them be," she said.

He sighed and glared at his sister. "I suppose."

Ginny squealed and hugged him. "You're the best, Ronnie."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.

* * *

Ginny was thrilled down to her toes. _Finally_, Ron and Hermione were together. While she cared a great deal for her brother and her best friend's happiness, she cared a great deal more for the fact that Ron would be out of the way for the rest of the vacation.

This called for a reapplication of makeup before heading to Harry's room.

This plan was quite neatly foiled when she found Harry waiting in her room, but she forgave him quickly. Especially since he was holding a wrapped box.

"Is that for me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, grinning, "but later."

_Later_ was not a word Ginny dealt with well. "Why not now?" she suggested, batting her eyelashes.

He lifted a brow. "I suppose I could be persuaded."

Ginny was an _excellent_ persuader.

* * *

For the next few minutes, Hermione held Ron's hand and rested her head on her shoulder as they talked about whatever came to mind.

"I think I want to teach," Hermione began, "except that I'm afraid that I'm a horrible teacher."

"You're good at everything."

"Except explaining."

Ron shrugged. "I guess that's what you'd work on, then."

She poked his chest lightly. "What about you?"

"No idea." Ron looked at the floor. "I'm destined to be mediocre."

"That's not true," she argued. "I'd say this clairvoyance is something special."

"I can't control it."

"I guess," she said, amused, "that's what you'll work on, then."

Ron laughed sheepishly and squeezed her hand. "Throwing my words back in my teeth, eh?" 

Hermione lifted her head up and kissed him briefly. He, however, would have nothing to do with brevity. Ron was anti-short-pecks and pro-long-involved, which was sort of nice.

The telephone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"I have to get that," she said regretfully, pushing him away and picking up the phone.

Ron crossed his arms and glowered.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver.

-click-

She hung up, shaking her head. "Hmmph, isn't that annoying. Why don't you go ask Jamie if his computer recorded who that was?"

"Why me?"

"A, because I asked you to, and B, so that I can check if the lock on my bedroom door still works."

Ron complied quickly.

* * *

On his way down the hallway, Ron kicked open Ginny's door, continued walking, and marveled at his own self-control when he didn't even investigate the two yelps.

He walked into Jamie's room and tapped Hermione's brother on the head. "Hermione says I'm suppose to ask who was on the phone."

Jamie was staring at a small telly and jabbing a round object with his pointer finger. "I didn't answer it," he said.

"Yeah, well, the person hung up."

Jamie viciously poked at the white thing a few times. "Just a telemarketer."

"Oh," Ron said. He blinked and took a closer look at the television. "What kind of show is this?"

"It's not a telly," Jamie said. "It's a computer. I'm playing solitaire."

"Can't you just use cards for that?" Ron said dubiously.

Jamie forced out a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, but that would take shuffling."

"Oh," Ron said, and left. He'd already forgotten what Jamie had said before he was halfway back to his room. A pair was fighting on the stairs.

"_Meine schöne Wolke_," Günter said, waving his arms. "My pretty cloud, pleeease?"

"Günter, I'm related to you, for pungsakes," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.

"Distant, distant," he dismissed.

"And the fact that I'm independently wealthy has nothing to do with this?"

"Of _course_ not," he said smoothly.

Charlotte did not appear convinced.

Ron smirked and ducked into his bedroom.

* * *

It was only once he had closed his door that her remembered Hermione had gone back to her own room. "I should surprise her," he said to himself. "With, uh. Something."

He stared blankly at the floral wallpaper.

"Flowers!" he said, smacking his forehead. He pulled his wand out of a case tucked beneath his pillow.

Having never made flowers before, he didn't really remember the spell. He concentrated, flicked his wand, and on the floor appeared-

A rock.

"I could paint it," he mused, but discarded the idea.

He changed his pronunciation a bit, and the rock changed into a few cute sprigs of daisies.

"Good enough," he said, picked them up, and made a mad dash to her room.

* * *

Hermione idly leafed through the abhorrent book. "I can't believe I'm reduced to reading this," she complained.

Ron ambled in, ceremoniously imparting a bouquet. "I brought you flowers," he said, suddenly becoming a master of stating the obvious.

"Thank you," she said, inhaling the scent. "They're very nice."

His face split into a grin. "Good, good." For some reason, whatever brains he _had_ formerly possessed, it all abandoned him the moment he began thinking about kissing her.

She placed them on her table on top of her book and rose. "Um, the door..."

"Door," he said instantly. "Right." He turned around and flicked the lock.

They stood there for a moment, neither willing to make the first move.

"I was just going-"

"I don't know but-"

They both stopped. "You first," she said, even as he said, "You go."

Silence fell again.

"Oh, what the hell," Ron said. He crossed the room and dipped his head, bringing his lips to hers.

"This is nice," she informed him as she wrapped her arms around him.

"I'd have to say," he agreed, and kissed her again.

From the corner of his eye, a little girl grinned impishly and scampered into the closet.

* * *

[Will they or won't they? Is Ron in love with Hermione? Or is he just a randy teenager? Watch out for next time, where Ron has a really bad dream, Hermione stakes her claim, someone gets caught, and someone vomits. I'm personally looking forward to the vomit;) I don't know how long this going to be. If it's much more than one or two parts I'm going to have to actually have a plot. Suggestions welcome :)] 


	4. Part Four

Visions of Sugarplums: Part Four  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: The highlight of my research, I think, was reading the phrase _Wann tragen Sie Übershuhe?_ and then seeing it translated as "When do you wear rubbers?" As this was in the weather chapter of my Berlitz German book, I was... slightly scarred. Implying that maybe on sunny days, you were less likely to conceive or something. I checked another dictionary, which informed me that Übershuhe meant overshoe... which made more sense. I guess I just have a dirty mind ;) This is dedicated to my great-great-great grandfather, Frederick, who was as German as they come. Enjoy this chapter- _I_ had fun writing it.]

* * *

Ron relaxed in a chair in bad repair, scratching his stomach. He looked down at his hands, noting that he was wearing a pair of mismatched gloves with holes worn in the fingers. This baffled him slightly, but not _nearly_ as much as the fact that the flesh sticking out of the gloves was thick and just this side of corpulent. He blinked and stared down at the area he'd been scratching. It would be generous to term it a potbelly.

He gazed at his reflection in the telly screen. He brought his hands up to his face, tracing an uneven and wholly unattractive stubble.

"Hey, Paw," said a girl, bouncing in the room. Her teeth were crooked and yellow, her hair matted, and her clothing ragged.

Ron started to get a really bad feeling about this. "Uh, hi."

"Ma's home, she wants to see you in the kitchen."

He eased himself out of his chair, joints aching in odd places. He was disconcerted to find that watching his feet while he walked was nearly impossible. He could barely see his feet. He somehow made his way amidst the paint-peeling walls.

A multitude of redheaded children were in the kitchen. One, two, three, four... five? Plus the one from the other room, six. Oh, there was one in under the sink- seven. And who knows how many more in other parts of the house.

Hermione sat at the table, elbows firmly bracing her hands against her face. "I'm going to have to find a new job," she announced grimly. "Public schools don't pay enough."

"But you love teaching," he blurted.

She shook her head with a sad smile. "You can hardly go to work, not with the kids still at home. And with junior on the way..." She trailed off, a hand flitting absently to her abdomen.

His eyes widened. _**Eight?**_

* * *

Ron thrashed his blankets violently, trying to get them off of him. He was suffocating, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He twisted, turned, heaving the damn things off of him-

And succeeded only by falling out onto the floor.

His body thudded a few times against the wood. He winced and cursed several times. That wasn't a vision he'd had, just a warning.

_How could I be so stupid?_

Lately, around Hermione, Ron had recognized a large and pressing issue.

In his pants.

He'd neglected to remember while resolving that issue, a much larger issue could be spawned. As in, uh, spawn.

While children seemed nice, and the general idea of Hermione pregnant with one of his kids filled him with a sort of possessive pride, the truth was that he associated both of those things with a distance of a good ten years. Being a father at age seventeen, with no money, no career, and no house was not one of Ron's current aspirations. In fact, the idea made him want to run very, very far away.

Like to.. Siberia. That was far away, wasn't it?

He tried to remember, but his concept of geography was sorely limited when he _wasn't_ sprawled out in pain on the floor.

It wasn't as if he'd actually _done_ anything yet, although not for lack of effort. Interruptions had limited their progression to the kiss-and-fondle stage. Lots of kissing and fondling, mind you, but it was enough to make him more frustrated than he had been in the I-can't-even-like-her-she's-my-friend stage.

He waggled a finger threateningly in the general direction of his zipper. "Behave yourself, or eight kids."

Even that didn't seem to work. He drew his knees to his chest and groaned.

"I think it's time for a _very_ cold shower."

* * *

Hermione was had just about had it with her family.

She always felt irritated with them after spending any period of time with them, but this year, it was much worse. Between her grandmother bullying everyone, her cousin chatting up anything that moved, and the rest of her relatives being just generally interfering, she was waxing homicidal.

Case in point: last night. She and Ron had been blissfully isolated, locked alone in her bedroom. She'd long stopped trying to figure out where his mouth and his hands were going, since he seemed to be determined to attend to every inch of her body. He'd been working on divesting her of her shirt when her Aunt Nancy had knocked on her door, insisting that she come partner her for Euchre.

Ron had whispered pleas in her ear, but she had merely tugged down her shirt, shoved him in the closet, and joined her aunt downstairs.

She was tired of being the smart girl, the girl who one called on to help with homework or the partner who'd work for an A on a group project. She wanted to be the girl one took to dinner, to dances, to secret darkened alcoves _during_ dances. Ron was starting to see her as the latter type of girl, and she would go insane if he went on to some other Gryffindor just because her family was meddlesome.

Hermione was brushing her uncontrollable hair when her brother peeked his head in.

"Hermione?" he said, hesitance flickering over his face.

She set her brush down and glared at him. "What?"

Jamie wrung his hands. "I, uh, don't know how to tell you this, but... um. You know Ron?"

"Yes," she said with more patience than she felt, "I know Ron."

"You like him?"

She folded her arms. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

After an awkward pause, Jamie blurted, "I think he's gay."

She stared at her brother in incomprehension. "_Ron_? Ron Weasley?"

He nodded bleakly.

"Jamie, do you have any idea how fervently he tried to get into my pants last night?" she demanded.

"No, but thank you for that pleasant mental image," he shot back. "All I know is that I caught he and Günter kissing in the hallway."

"You are such an idiot," she snapped. "Günter's been trying to shove his tongue down every throat here."

"I only know what I saw," Jamie said stubbornly.

"I'll go talk to him, but I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding." Hermione plaited her hair quickly and tossed the braid over her shoulder.

He caught her before she stormed out and looked sympathetic. "I hope so too, sis."

* * *

"Jamie saw Günter kissing you."

Hermione stood in the doorway.

And she didn't look happy.

Ron felt his entire face turn beet red. "Shut the door, would you?"

After she did, she pointed a finger and commanded, "Explain."

_Oh, god._ Ron closed his eyes and tried to think of something that wouldn't sound completely retarded. "I didn't want to get you pregnant."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you snogged someone you _couldn't_ get pregnant?"

"No!" he said desperately. "I, uh. I asked him if he had any condoms, because surely of all people he would, and I guess he thought I was making a pass, because then he pinned me against the wall and kissed me- he's like a damn ox, I had to kick him in the bollocks to get him off me, and that's it, I swear." He said the middle part very fast, and as quiet as possible.

She gave him a very bright, very false smile. "I think I'm going to go talk to my darling cousin."

* * *

Hermione stomped down to the room Günter inhabited. Her cousin was reclined on the bed, feet propped up, being massaged by Charlotte's expert hands. "_Guten Morgen_," he said lazily.

"Charlotte," she said, voice dripping with malice, "I'd like to have a word with our mutual cousin alone."

Charlotte got the hint immediately and left.

Günter sat up, looking faintly irritated at losing his masseuse. "What is it?"

Hermione jabbed him in the chest. "Günter Augustus Granger, you stay away from Ron."

"Men with eyelashes like his should not be asking men with appetites like mine for condoms," he said crossly. "It is not my fault at all."

She leaned over and said fiercely, "He's mine."

To say Günter looked surprised would have been an understatement. Astonished, shocked, absolutely flabbergasted came closer.

"You so much as breathe on him and I will ship you back to Berlin." Her tone was deadly serious, and he looked very, very nervous.

"I had no idea," Günter professed. "I wouldn't dream of pursuing a man of yours."

"Yeah, right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just see that you don't."

* * *

_Eight kids._

Ron thudded his head against the wall. His not-so-brilliant plan to obtain birth control had backfired; whom else could he ask? He could think of anyone who seemed that... promiscuous.

_You could ask Harry._

His face blanched. _No, you are _not_ going to ask Harry, because he is not having sex with your sister. And if he is, you don't want to know._

Thud. Thud. Thud. _Maybe we'd be safe if it was only once. I mean, what are the odds that after one time, she'd get pregnant?_

Then he thought about his parents.

And his six siblings.

_Damn,_ he thought in resignation.

"You're going to dent the drywall."

Ron craned his head towards the doorway. A fairly skinny girl of medium height critically eyed the spot behind his head. Dishwater blond strands dusted a lavender sweater.

"So?" was his witty comeback.

"Do you know where Jamie's room is?"

"Yeah," Ron said. Then he remembered last night's dinner conversation. "Are you Betsy?"

She nodded. "Could you show me where to go?"

Ron rose to his feet and began walking down the hall. Betsy followed closely, as if Ron were going to suddenly sprint off in an unknown direction.

"You must be one of Hermione's friends," she commented as they neared Jamie's door.

"Ron," he said by way of introduction. He opened the door. Jamie was, not very surprisingly, on his computer.

Hermione's brother threw a glance over his shoulder to assess the intrusion. His jaw promptly dropped. "Betsy?"

"I told you I was coming." Betsy crossed the room and briefly kissed his forehead. "You need to brush your hair."

"I thought you broke up with me," said the bewildered boy.

She blinked. "Why on earth did you think that?"

"You were mad at me for missing dinner, I haven't heard from you in two weeks."

"Jamie," she said slowly, "the reason we were having dinner was because I was leaving for a two week training session."

This did not appear to ring any bells in Jamie's brain.

"I left you the number for my hotel room." Then at his blank expression, she clarified, "On a yellow post-it note on your fridge."

"Oh," he said. "So that's what that number was. I think I remember this now." After the details reaffirmed themselves in his mind, he added, "I'm glad you didn't break up with me."

Betsy shook her head, almost amused by his absentmindedness, and dropped another kiss on his nose. "I love you, you silly goose."

Ron froze.

Love.

Hermione had told him last night that she loved him. Plain as day, soft as summer, she'd declared it.

_Do I love her?_

He didn't know.

_I like her... a lot,_ he compromised. _I like her enough that I want to have wild rampant sex with her. I like her enough that I don't want to ruin her life by getting her pregnant. I like her enough that I'm having visions of our daughter every time I turn around._

When he added all that up, the total definitely seemed enough to be love. _I should tell her that,_ he decided.

* * *

Hermione felt good.

Damn good, in fact. All this feminine energy in her had popped out of nowhere. She'd just warned off competition. Ginny would be proud of her.

She practically waltzed into her room, spinning and humming. She was contemplating a pirouette when she noticed Ron in the corner.

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

He cleared his throat. "Hi."

Hermione launched her arms around him and beamed. "Günter won't be bothering you anymore."

He smiled, but turned serious again.

Serious? Ron? Something was going on.

"I need to tell you something."

_What if he doesn't want to be with me anymore? What if he thinks I'm a horrible kisser? What if he really _is_ gay?_ Her stomach careened with billions of dreadful possibilities.

"I don't know really how to start," he said, biting his lip. "In ways this is even worse than yesterday, because it actually means something. I guess it all stems from the fact that I use the word to describe things that aren't meaningful at all. I love that little knobby thing on the end of my wand, and I love those warm socks I got last year for my birthday. I guess what I'm trying to say is that sort of love is completely different than what I feel for you.

"I can always get a new wand, or buy more stockings. But you- there isn't a replacement. I love you. I want to be with you forever, be everything to you. But, I guess for now, I'll settle for being your boyfriend."

Tears ran hot down her cheeks. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she sobbed, pressing her cheek against his chest. "Of course I'll be your girlfriend."

It was the most perfect moment in her life. The boy she loved loved her as well, and they were official. Her insides were jumping hoops and doing pirouettes of their own. As she thought not a single thing could spoil this instant-

She threw up all over his shirt.

* * *

They stood in the bathroom for a few minutes. Hermione was rinsing his shirt out in the sink, apologizing profusely, blushing miserably. No matter how many times he told her it was okay, she still wailed, "Oh, god, I'm _so_ sorry."

After she was somewhat satisfied with the shirt's sanity, the two went back to his room to fetch a replacement. Ron fumbled through the second drawer for something nice to wear for the rest of the day.

"I like you in green," Hermione said absently, her hands skimming through his hair.

He dug out a green shirt.

"What's that on your bed?" she remarked curiously. She picked up a small box with an attached card.

"Go ahead and open it," he said while he pulled on the garment. "See who it's from."

She slit open the envelope. "_Ein Geschenk_," she read, then translated, "a gift. Use well and often."

"Günter?" Ron surmised.

She tore the wrapping, stared at the box, then wordlessly handed it to him.

Trojans.

Both of them were flushed with embarrassment.

"Tonight?" he asked tentatively.

"Okay," she agreed shyly, averting her eyes.

His face broke out in a grin. Although the time was nearly ten hours away, he didn't care. "Let's go have something to eat," he said, taking her hand.

She smiled and let him lead her downstairs.

* * *

[Aww! Not a lot of questions left, are there? The fifth and final part is coming soon. A little of Betsy and Jamie, a little Harry and Ginny, a lot of Ron and Hermione. Ron comes to terms with his future and assorted happy things ensue. I'm afraid there will be no graphic sex. This _is_ PG-13- if barely.] 


	5. Part Five

Visions of Sugarplums: Part Five  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: Dedicated to Sky Sorceress, even though she got me hooked on Neopets this weekend. For my onee-chan, The "stop being so bloody Prussian" Hoyden; for Jess, who is desperately waiting for the HP fic I write in which I *don't* mention sex; and lastly, for Lindsey, just 'cause.]

* * *

Jamie ate his omelet with his left hand, holding tightly with his right to his girlfriend's long, graceful fingers. The arrangement left a good deal of his brunch on his shirt and in his hair (he had no idea how it got _up_ there), but he was assured continuously that yes, Betsy was really sitting next to him. This, combined with frequent glances in her direction, renewed his inner sense of... jolliness. Not that he was unable to be happy without her. It was simply that _with_ her, he was happi_er_.

"Brunch is a cool word," he reflected as another piece of egg made its way to his errant strands.

Betsy smiled and brushed some of the food from his hair. She was awfully tolerant of his randomness. She was like a correcting factor in his life, a check digit, a means of insuring that if something went wrong with him, she could fix it.

"You're my parity bit," he told her seriously, placing a kiss above her brow.

"That's sweet," she said, and smiled again.

"'Lo, Jamie," Hermione called. His sister entered the dining room on the arm of her chum from school, Ron. Jamie cocked his head, trying to figure out what was different in the picture. Oh, yeah. Something about kissing, and pants. He frowned, trying to remember if he should be concerned, but his concentration was broken by the reminder of Betsy's presence.

* * *

"Wake up."

Ginny yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Dammit," she said crossly, "this better be good, or I am going to drop-kick you down the hallway."

"Food," Harry said, holding up his hands in defense.

"Oh, that _is_ a good one," she conceded. She sat up, patted her hair, and reviewed her reflection. "Decent?"

"Better than decent," he assured automatically.

"You're the best," she replied, slipping into a clean outfit. Once the task was finished, she kissed him firmly. "Let's go eat."

* * *

Ron and Hermione sat opposite her brother at the table. Ron helped himself to a few strips of bacon and a roll. The room was strangely silent, unless one could count the arbitrary comments that came from Jamie every once and a while. It was almost as if-

* * *

"Paaaaapa," Leonie said, tugging on his pants.

He reached down and pulled her up onto his lap. Absently he stroked her wild hair while reading the Daily prophet and sipping his tea.

"Josh stepped on my doll," she informed him, crossing her arms and pouting.

He continued reading a particularly fascinating article on the Chudley Cannons.

"And then he threw it across the room."

Amazing, they had _won_ last night.

"And he said a bad word," she added for good measure.

Ron tore his eyes from the paper in mock alarm. "Heavens," he said dramatically, drawing his eyebrows together. "All of those?"

"Yes," Leonie confirmed.

"And this was before or after you defenestrated his train?"

"I didn't mean to throw it out the window, Papa," she said earnestly. "It just kind of happened."

"Uh huh," he said warily. "Where's your mother?"

"Fixing Josh's train," she said guiltily.

"I'd say you deserved all of that, then," he said, "except for maybe the dirty word." He moved her to an adjacent chair, and rose to find the soap. 

* * *

"Ron?"

His brain snapped back to reality. "Yeah?"

The tension in Hermione's face eased. "Would you like another roll?"

He nodded, munching quietly. Harry and Ginny were here, now, sitting by Jamie and Betsy, probably because that side of the table was closest to the hallway. Ginny was generally ravenous in the mornings.

His knee brushed Hermione's, sending a jolt through him. He bent down and whispered in her ear, "I love you."

She blushed and put the roll on his plate.

_I could get used to this,_ he thought.

* * *

After breakfast, Harry had challenged Ron to a game of, alas, regular chess. Ginny had dragged Hermione upstairs to rifle through Muggle magazines to get tips on beauty and guys.

Hermione carelessly flipped through an issue, not paying much attention to it. Ginny would squeal every minute or so, and point out some sort of inane advice.

"I didn't know you could do that!" Ginny exclaimed, pointing at some tripe on mascara.

A passing page caught Hermione's eye.

**Condoms- and you!**

She scanned the paragraphs. _Success rate of 91 to 94 percent._

Hermione absorbed the statistic from the page readily. It sounded impressive, but a more meaningful piece could be gleaned.

Such as a rather high fail rate.

Perturbed, she shut the periodical.

_I don't know if I can handle this._

* * *

Ron felt helpless. Absolutely miserable. No matter which way he turned, he was trapped. He began to curse underneath his breath, because he really didn't know what else to do.

"Checkmate," Harry announced.

"This isn't fair," Ron countered. "The game isn't the same without the pieces actually butchering each other."

"Use your imagination," Harry suggested. "I won, fair and square, so get over it."

"No, no, no, I demand a rematch. Once we're back at Hogwarts, that is. No more advantages for you, you cheating bas-"

"Ron?" a female voice interrupted, tapping him on the shoulder.

He paused his tirade. "What, 'Mione?"

Harry's eyebrow went up. "'Mione?"

Ron glared at his friend. "Yes, 'Mione. Back off, you debaucher."

"I'm not the one doing the debauching," Harry said to no one in particular, which was a good thing, because no one was paying attention to him.

Hermione coughed discreetly. "Ron, we need to talk."

"Alright," he agreed, throwing another glare at his friend.

He followed her up to her bedroom, watching as her demeanor became more apprehensive with each step.

As soon as she closed the door, he was certain that the purpose of this meeting was _not_ for her to have her wicked way with him. "What's going on?" he asked carefully.

Hermione bit her lip and handed him a piece of teenage drivel, a magazine Ginny had no doubt picked up at the station somewhere. He skimmed a few sentences about lipstick colors and stared back at her, puzzled. "Are you having problems choosing between a pale rose or a tasteful mauve?"

"Not that page," she said in exasperation, flipping it over in his hands.

**Condoms- and you!**

"Oh," he said unintelligently.

"'91 to 94 percent success rate,'" she quoted rapidly, pacing and biting her lip to the point of splitting the skin.

He blinked. "That's good, isn't it?"

"That's six to nine percent failing."

"That's not a lot," he said, beaming. "That's less than ten percent."

His math was never really good, but he had his inequalities down fairly well.

"It's statistically significant," she said, "and that worries me."

Ron sighed. This was sounding worse and worse. "Can't you just... you know, wave your wand and get rid of your eggs?"

If looks could kill, he would have been dead several times over by now. "I still have problems charming off a pimple, and you want me to experiment on my ovaries?"

"No," he said immediately, attempting to cover his ass, "of course not. I mean, I was just thinking you might be familiar with a spell, and-"

She did not appear convinced.

Silence ate away at him, then she spoke softly. "I'm not ready for this."

"You were ready last night. And this morning," he accused.

"I wasn't thinking," she snapped.

The knife was thrown at his heart.

He stared out the window. "So now that you've started thinking, what am I, a mistake?"

Her laugh was bitter. "Look at us. We've not even been together for a day, and we're already fighting."

The blade twisted.

"I love you," he offered.

"You say you do," she said slowly. "But if you really do, you'll understand. I'm only seventeen, Ron. Maybe it sounds worlds older than sixteen; let me assure you it's not. We've got another term of school left, but if I get pregnant before we're done, my life is over. I appreciate your thoughtfulness in protection, but I don't want to take any chances."

"But..."

"I don't know how serious you really are about me," she said. "You could break up with me next week for all I know."

"Wouldn't tonight _prove_ how serious I am?"

She smiled wanly. "Waiting would prove you more serious."

Ron sighed. His brain, which seemed to have returned in rare occasion to a place above his belt, assessed the information she had given him.

While he might be taking many more cold showers in the months to come, he didn't want to blow his chance with Hermione. He loved her, dammit. "I can wait," he said, wincing as the words came out. "But can we talk about it again this summer?"

"Definitely," she said, and flung herself into his arms.

* * *

The day had passed by pleasantly; he'd been treated to photo albums and slides, where the people didn't move. It had been disturbing at first, but nice, in a way. Dinner had been less hectic; he'd grown used to her family. They'd watched some program on the telly, and then off to bed they went.

And now he was on his way to slumber. A radically different notion than what he'd had in mind this morning. He sighed and reminded himself it was for the best.

"Papa?"

Ron shifted his head on his pillow to see his new visitor. "I'm trying to sleep, Leonie."

She bounded in anyway and hopped on the bed. "Why aren't you sleeping with Mama?"

"Very good question," he replied sourly, flopping over. Then he realized she didn't quite mean it the way he took it, and sighed again.

"It's for the best," he said aloud forcefully, hoping that somehow that would make him feel better about it.

And then he got an idea.

An _excellent_ idea.

"Go back to your room," he said, patting Leonie on the bottom. "I've got an idea to execute."

He didn't even notice on his way out that she had vanished.

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep.

"Two point seven one eight two eight one eight two eight four six.. no, five nine.."

"E."

Her head sharply turned to the door, where Ron stood. "Yes, that was e," she said with some surprise.

He blinked. "There was a bug on my arm."

"Oh," she said, vague disappointment flashing. Her vision cleared a bit, and she recognized that he was nearly half naked, and that this could not bode well. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I sleep with you?"

This comment did nothing for her apprehension. She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I thought we already talked about this."

"Not like that." His eyes grew large. "More like _next_ to you. Hold you, wake up with you in my arms."

She softened considerably. "My parents would kill us if they found us."

"We could lock the door."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Alright. But nothing more than that. Promise?"

"Promise," he agreed. After turning the lock, he climbed underneath the covers and snuggled against her.

It was a gigantic influx of warmth and comfort. He was so much larger than her; his body swallowed hers in ways that should have frightened her. But she wasn't frightened at all... she felt more secure than she could ever recall being before.

"Your hair always smells so good," he mumbled.

"Mm," she replied drowsily. As she drifted into sleep, she couldn't help thinking what an excellent idea this was.

* * *

* * *

epilogue 

* * *

* * *

The two friends walked down the halls. Ron laughed while Harry described events from Arithmancy earlier. "So, then Neville tripped over the edge of his robe, and ran into Seamus, who went straight into a-"

"Mr. Weasley!"

Ron halted his steps, trying not to curse. "Afternoon, Professor McGonagall."

The head of Gryffindor house folded her arms and tapped her toe. "I think you know what I'm looking for."

Before she could begin her scolding, he whipped his seventh year survey from his satchel. "For you, Professor."

"You finished it?" she said in amazement.

He scratched his forehead. "I don't know what you're going to think about the results, but yes."

McGonagall read it over quickly.

Ron was rather afraid that she was going to tell him he was a quack for wanting to work at the Ministry in the precognizant department.

Instead, she beamed.

Beam? McGonagall?

Ron blinked, but her pleased expression remained. "Mr. Weasley, I'm most impressed," she said, pushing her glasses back up.

"You are?"

"Your grades in Divination have always been high," she said. 

_Because I lied through my teeth_, he thought, but decided not to relay this information.

"I know a fellow who's assistant head of that department. I'll make sure I post him a letter in your favor," McGonagall said pensively. She patted his shoulder and smiled again. "Nice job, Mr. Weasley."

He almost felt the need to pick his jaw up from the floor.

Harry clapped a hand on his back. "'Nice job, Mr. Weasley,'" he mimicked, and laughed. 

"Shut up," Ron muttered.

Hermione strode out of her classroom and linked her arm in his. "What's this?"

Harry was still laughing.

"On second thought," she said, "I don't want to know." She bent up and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Let's go watch the match."

Ron's face nearly split with his grin.

Life, he decided, was good.

* * *

[::sigh:: That's nice. So, for once, I have no idea what I'm writing next. Maybe some D/G, I think I'm ready to go back to that. Or maybe another R/Hr tale. I'm thinking about starting like a huge, mondo fic, with an actual plot and everything. I'm always open to comments. ;)] 


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